Page 18 of Potions and Proposals
“I’d be up here every night if I could. I’m surprised there are no guests up here,” she said, tucking her feet under herself. Benedict sat on the lounger beside her, exhausted. He stared up at the stars she was attempting to trace with her fingers.
“They aren’t allowed up here after midnight. I come up when I can, to enjoy the peace,” he admitted, wondering again if she’d remember any of this tomorrow.
“I’m jealous,” she sighed. He glanced at her to see her eyelids growing heavy. “You escape to the sky and I to the underground. Grams was right when she called us opposites.”
Benedict arched his brows, wondering what else had been said about him. He had a soft spot for Lucinda’s grandmother. She’d been there for him when his father was tried for assisted death by magic, and never judged him for the actions of those related to him.
“Come here whenever you like. Just come through the way I showed you. The guests or the staff won’t even notice,” he said, resting an arm under his head. “It’s nice not arguing with you; maybe we can make it a regular thing, now that we’re to be bound. If we’d made peace earlier, we’d have saved ourselves all this hassle. We could tell them we’ve changed our minds?”
He held his breath, waiting for her to defend herself or accuse him of trying to trick her into backing out. However, his words went unanswered. Turning to see if she was considering it, Benedict found her sleeping peacefully, one of the fluffy white towels tucked under her head. With a sigh of relief, exhaustion overcame him, and he laid his head beside hers.
Up close, he admired her freckles, her long lashes, and wondered how the hell they were going to navigate the next month. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, and her eyes fluttered open.
He stilled, but she reached out to him. Her fingers gently traced his ear, his cheekbone, his jaw while he watched the stars, afraid to move an inch in case she stopped her exploration.
“How can you be so beautiful?” she said, sitting up on her elbow. He turned his head slightly to watch her.
“I really need to get the recipe for that tea,” he said, wondering what she was up to.
“You know you’re handsome, don’t be modest. Every woman in town wants to fuck you,” Lucinda informed him, settling against his chest.
“Christ, pumpkin.” He did not want to think about fucking with her so close. He swallowed, trying not to think about how her body fitted against his.
She smiled and kissed his shoulder, and he clenched his jaw, not understanding how such a small gesture could stir a hunger in him he hadn’t known existed. Her lips grazed his cheek, inching closer to his lips. This wasn’t why he’d brought her here. He’d wanted to protect her and he would, even if that meant from herself and the desire coiling inside him.
Benedict turned away. Lucy sat up, her frown making it clear she was startled by his rejection. She clung to his back, stopping him from standing up.
“I’m sorry, it’s the tea,” she pleaded. “Don’t go.”
He looked over his shoulder, hating how embarrassed she looked.
“You wouldn’t be saying or acting this way, if you weren’t under the influence,” he said, pointing out the obvious.
“I’m hardly under the influence. I know who I am and who I’m with.” She placed her hand on his chest. “You’re Benedict,I’m Lucy we are sitting on the top of the Manor. I wanted to kiss you.” She stared up at him, her eyes drifting to his lips.
He shook his head, resting his hand over hers. “You don’t know what you’re saying. It’s the tea speaking.”
“Do you not want to kiss me? Am I not good enough for you? Oh God, you’re forced to marry me and now I’ve forced myself on you!” She buried her face in her hands.
Benedict turned to face her. “There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t want to kiss you,” he said, tilting her chin up to face him. He never wanted to hear her say that she wasn’t good enough ever again.
“Then kiss me.”
“You hate me.”
“What does that have to do anything?” she asked softly, inching closer to him. Her hand drifted from his arm to his shoulder. He knew he should get up and walk away, but as she cupped his cheek he couldn’t.
“You’ll hate me.”
“I thought we already established that I do,” she said, resting her forehead against his.
“I should take you home.”
“You should shut up and kiss me.”
The desire in her words was his undoing. A low groan slipped through his lips; her eyes shifted to meet his. That was all it took.
Benedict’s lips crashed against hers, hand gripping the back of her neck. No kiss had ever tasted as good as hers. Her soft lips were now his favourite drug. A moan escaped her as she parted them, letting him explore. He took everything she was willing to give as her hands travelled from his chest and slipped into his hair, pulling him closer; he smiled against her lips.
